


those precious hours (but no hearts and flowers)

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Romance, the sylvain/ingrid is unrequited btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 07:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: “Felix is rough. Not like Sylvain. Not like she wanted. But the burn curls her toes, heats her blood, and brings mist to her eyes. It hurts, it aches when he bites down too hard, when his nails rake across her skin, but it’s fine. It’s what she deserves, dare she say what she wants, after the things she has done. It’s her own cowardice that brought her here, to the fire that ripples across her skin, that aches and melts and burns until she can’t decipher the pleasure from the pain anymore. It all blurs the same way Felix does with the moisture pooling in her eyes.”





	those precious hours (but no hearts and flowers)

Felix is rough. Not like Sylvain. Not like she wanted. But the burn curls her toes, heats her blood, and brings mist to her eyes. It hurts, it aches when he bites down too hard, when his nails rake across her skin, but it’s fine. It’s what she deserves, dare she say what she wants, after the things she has done. It’s her own cowardice that brought her here, to the fire that ripples across her skin, that aches and melts and burns until she can’t decipher the pleasure from the pain anymore. It all blurs the same way Felix does with the moisture pooling in her eyes. 

Even still, her thoughts turn back to the one thing she was trying to escape. Her hands knot in the sheets as her mind drifts to teasing smiles and flirty jokes that would never fit well on Felix. His hair, grown longer, looser over the years, brushes her stomach as he trails his affections lower, and Ingrid sees red locks instead of blue there. But then he bites and reminds her, breath catching in her throat then spilling out in a low whimper. This is gratification, nothing more. It is physical desire, tension and release, but even Felix knows better than to think it’s emotionless. It might be for him, though the fire in his eyes makes her think otherwise, but it’s a bittersweet thing for her. 

Ingrid shudders and digs her nails tighter into the sheets when his tongue smooths flat over a sore mark just above her hipbone. Inhaling fast and sharp through her nose, she resists the urge to reach out and... and what? Run her fingers through his hair? Touch his jaw, his face? It’s too much and she doesn’t know, so she keeps herself restrained and quiet, aside from the harsh breaths that push past her lips. But it feels almost tender, the way he lingers over the bite, suddenly slow and attentive, even if his fingers still curl too hard into the spaces between her ribs. Or, maybe, it hadn’t been sudden at all, but a gradual tilt, a subtle pitch, and she was so caught in the burn and in her head, that she hardly noticed until it seemed like time had slowed to honey. 

His teeth scrape along the line of her hip, following the ridge of bone there and sinking dangerously low. Ingrid can’t help the twitch of her hips, but tries to disguise it by bending her legs at the knees, smoothing the flat of her feet along the sheets. Judging from the smirk she feels pressed against her skin, Felix did notice it after all. He doesn’t comment though, only licks and kisses a stripe back up her abdomen, where the muscle quivers under his touch. 

“Felix,” Ingrid murmurs, the word coming out hoarse and raw like she’d worn out her voice, despite the fact she had been straining to keep quiet. She doesn’t even know what she plans to say when she catches his attention, and she does, but her chest feels like it’s been torn open, her heart beating inside, exposed. It’s too much, and she needs to say something before the ache consumes her and whatever bubble of emotion that’s swelling inside her bursts. 

“What?” Felix snaps, voice low and rough, though she can’t tell if he’s angry with her or frustrated at being stopped, or merely being his gruff self. His breath is hot against the taut skin of her stomach and a spill of something equally molten and heated chases the shudder that runs down her spine and pools, heavy and needy, beneath the pit of her stomach. At the sensation, she squirms a little, trying in vain to ease the heat and tension rippling over her. 

She still doesn’t know what to say, but the words coming stumbling out anyway, and she can hardly hear what she’s saying over the pounding of blood in her ears. “I feel like I’m using you. No, I am using you,” she admits quietly. Then after a beat, her next words slip before she can stop them. “What do you want to get out of this?” she questions on a ragged breath, because some wretched feelings are tearing her apart, and one of them among the tangle feels suspiciously like guilt. They had agreed ahead of time, talked, put down rules. Now, though, Ingrid feels like she’s abusing his trust, his commitment, and it makes her sick. Despite their rough patches, Felix is one of the people she treasures most in the world, along with the rest of her friends from childhood. There’s a ghost among that count too, one she loved and cried and broke over, and that only makes it worse.

Instead of answering right away, Felix continues to mouth at her hip, the skin reddening beneath his teeth, going violet between his lips when he hollows his cheeks and sucks. Something in Ingrid dislodges at the quiet avoidance, and tears start to prick in her eyes again. If pressed, she couldn’t even say why, but the emotion welled up and threatened to spill over. Guilt over Felix, over Sylvain, over Glenn, over being the only one taking while he gives and touches and pours himself over her. 

There’s shame too, in reacting like this. It isn’t like her to break and let her emotions take the best of her resolve and shatter it to pieces. It’s in the things they’re doing, too, the press of skin against skin, of lips to skin and tongues and teeth and bared hearts. Color burns in a deep blush all the way from the tips of her ears, across her cheeks, to the base of her neck. And it isn’t the pink flush of wanting either, but a deeper red of shame. More than anything, Ingrid reaches deep for some sort of control, trying hard to avoid being pulled under by the emotions running high. 

“Listen, I’m just looking to blow off steam,” Felix finally replies, voice gravelly, and meets her gaze. What she sees shakes her doubts a little, his eyes heavily lidded and darkened with desire, yet glowing with a hungry sort of fire. His lips are reddened and swollen, parted in deep breaths. He looks like, in this moment, there’s nothing more desirable than her. “So no more emotional crap. Just... let me do this,” he breathes, letting his eyes fall shut for a beat. In a rare moment, the sigh the follows doesn’t sound exasperated or frustrated, only longing, yearning, almost pleading. 

Only, it’s Felix, so he doesn’t plead. Sleek, inky lashes flutter open again, and he looks for acknowledgment, judging if she’d even heard what he said. The slight frown on his lips is grave and weighty, but the wanting hunger that underlies it reveals far more.

The tendons in Ingrid’s fingers hurt from clenching in the sheets for so long. Slowly, she unravels them, nods at Felix, and lets her head fall back into the pillows. They smell like him, all pine and woodsmoke and sun rays, with just a tinge of salt. She breathes it in and lets her fingers find the soft locks at the base of his neck. At first, when she touches him, something hitches and holds in his chest, but she doesn’t move away, and he relaxes into it. A questioning but pleased hum falls from his lips, the vibrations sending jolts of heat out from where his mouth is pressed just beneath her navel. A moan bubbles in her chest, and Ingrid lets it slip, pushing everything from her mind but the bright, hot sensations of here and now. 

Nothing else matters. That is the whole reason she’s here, laid out across his bed. She wanted to forget, even just for a moment, and just feel and work out every pent up thing slowly building inside her. And Felix, for his part, probably can’t take out all his stresses with slashes of a sword. So, it works, this odd mingling of passion and desire and frustration. And when Ingrid feels a puff of his breath between her legs, starting at the damp heat of it, she is more assured. Even if it’s only due to the haze of adrenaline and want clouding over her, she decides to give in. 

Felix’s mouth is searing, and he moves torturously slowly, every lick or kiss long and purposeful. Heart thudding in her chest, Ingrid curls the hands resting in his hair to fists, the breath rushing from her lungs. It’s all she can do to gasp it back in before he starts to nip at the sensitive flesh, sending sparks scattering across her vision. Everything is heat and touch and flares of pain, only the sound of Felix’s stuttered breathing and her own gasps joining that sensations. Her toes curl and she pulls her knees up higher, hardly keeping enough resolve to resist folding in on herself. It’s overwhelming, he’s overwhelming, and yet she’s sure she would burst if he stopped. 

It isn’t long before she feels the licking waves of something building deep inside her, and hardly coherent pleas for more, faster, tumble off her lips. Harder, too, falls from her tongue, and Felix listens particularly well to that. All at once, he presses his tongue deep and scrapes with his teeth, the hands that settled on her thighs pushing her legs farther apart and digging nails in deep. The stretch of the muscles in her legs, the ache from his teeth, the deep, unrelenting heat of his tongue, send her reeling over the edge. White hot pleasure hits her hard, and a sob builds in her chest, tears up her throat. 

Even through her high, Felix never stops in his affections, drawing out every last moment of satisfaction that he can. It’s only when she starts to come down, panting and shaking, that he eases back, reading the way she curls in on herself, away from him, too sensitive to take anymore. With her hair spilled around her like a golden halo, a pink flush to her cheeks, and the slightest sheen of sweat on her skin, he thinks she looks beautiful. 

“Felix,” she manages to croak out between heaving breaths, broken and wanting. Her chest hurts, pulling tight with the absence of him, and despite the heat and flush still thrumming across her skin, she feels cold without him. And the heavy blanket of emotion is creeping back in after the blinding streak of heat and pleasure, and the thought of tackling it alone makes her heart seize. 

“I’m right here,” he replies, a little rough and exasperated, but warm enough all the same. Wiping his lips on the back of his arm, he settles in beside her, brushing tears she doesn’t remember crying off her cheeks with surprising gentleness. His fingers are damp by the time he’s done, and they settle against her jaw, his thumb rubbing soothing circles in the space just beneath it. He doesn’t kiss her, like she might have hoped, but she’s not sure she could take the sweetness of it now anyway, so it’s probably for the best. Still, even just his presence calms her somehow, and the tightness in her chest slackens.

Though, Ingrid does shift a little closer to him, just to feel the pleasant warmth of his skin against hers, and she suddenly realizes why he had kept a little distance to begin with. He’s hard against her thigh, and that knowledge sends a heavy, drunken buzz through her whole body, a blush rising high on her cheeks. When, only a moment ago, she still felt like recovering, now that urge to rest and come down dissipates like smoke in the air. Felix only clears his throat, face tinging a little pinker than it already was, and shifts away enough so they aren’t touching anymore. 

He must be able to see her thoughts surfacing on her face, or maybe the heart on her sleeve, because he gives her a look and knits his brows. “Don’t worry about it today. You can repay the favor some other time,” he mumbles dismissively, only a little huffy. 

For just an instant, Ingrid debates taking him up on the offer, but shakes her head, blonde hair falling over her shoulder. “No, that isn’t right,” she asserts gently, reaching out until her hand lands high on the rise of his hip. 

“Quit being so knightly and think about yourself. I don’t give a damn what’s right,” Felix snaps back, and the sudden change surprises Ingrid, sets her pulse quickening. She draws back her hand, setting it on the sheets between them. Though, a moment later, he groans and runs a hand over his face, looking a little guilty and thoroughly frustrated. Scrubbing at his eyes, he sighs and drops his hands, meeting her gaze straight on.

“I just meant you shouldn’t force yourself,” he amends, lips turning down in a serious frown. Then, his next worry he adds so quietly she almost doesn’t hear, a light pink dusting his face. “You were crying,” he says under his breath, a near whisper. For someone typically so stoic, Ingrid’s taken off guard by how much that seems to have rattled him, but warmth unfurls in her chest at the realization he was worried about her. 

To be honest, she still isn’t sure where the outpouring of emotion came from, only that everything she kept buried in her heart broke loose and overflowed. Whether the close intimacy was overwhelming, or the guilt of having feelings for someone else caught up with her, Ingrid felt better about it all after that. The catharsis and contentment she’s still basking in now assure her. 

“Please, Felix,” she says, and he looks at her with a guarded expression. “I... I want this to be good for you too,” she adds, and she means it wholeheartedly. 

He swallows hard, and she watches his throat bob, fingertips gently reaching out again. And when they reach his toned abdomen, he doesn’t push her away, only nods resolutely, his loose hair falling over his eyes. Suddenly, Ingrid feels her nerves kick in, jumpy and jittery as her hand trails lower. Though, as soon as her fingers brush over his length, she finds any anxiety harbored in her chest turns to anticipation. Because the way Felix’s breath catches and stutters, his lashes fluttering, has her mesmerized, and she wants to see more. 

She’s glad that, for the moment, she doesn’t see red locks or charming smiles anymore. Felix isn’t merely a substitute, and whatever twisted way she feels about him, feels about both of them, she honestly wants to share this with him. And she doesn’t want to cry over it, melt over it, collapse over it. So she draws him into her palm, carefully running her hand down the length, nails tipped in just enough to barely ghost over his skin. He shivers, and she sprays her other hands flat across his abdomen to feel every move. The muscle there is pulled taut and tense now, twitching ever so slightly as she etches the lines and dips of his body into her memory. 

Not long later, Felix moves to straddle her, his arms coming to rest on either side of her head, his hair falling down around them in a dark curtain. Drawing in a deep breath, Ingrid catches his eye, watches the hunger darken, and adjusts her hand between them. As she settles into a steady rhythm in her strokes, just fast enough to coax the occasional moan or gasp from Felix, he sinks down to only one arm supporting him, burying his head in the crook of her neck and letting some of his weight fall to her. 

Ingrid pulls in a sharp gasp at the sudden contact, finding herself craving that weight and intimacy. Though, it’s no surprise when his teeth find the supple flesh at the base of her neck and sink in to muffle the moan he hums across her skin. Surprise or not, though, it still sends coils of heat pulsing through her, the flash of pain quickly dulled by a rush of adrenaline. Blowing out a breath, Ingrid smooths her free hand around to roam across his back. The skin there is warm, and his back heaves with the occasional ragged breath, when she speeds her affections up just right, or thumbs over his head.

So busy marveling at Felix, she nearly forgets he had freed a hand. And when she feels two long, thin fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh, she jolts a little in surprise. She is still slick from earlier, and sensitive too, and she locks her breath in her chest as the digits presses up farther, stilling between her legs for just a beat to allow her to adjust. Anticipation grows inside Ingrid, and she chews at the swell of her bottom lip, but Felix seems to decide against pressing any farther. Instead, he draws slow, looping circles against her core until his fingers are wet.

Seeming far more impatient now, Felix nudges her hand aside and slicks himself. All the while, she watches with rapt attention, the heat simmering beneath her skin flushing hotter. Something like fire sweeps through her navel, and she revels in the feel of it. 

Still caught somewhere in a tangle of dizzying desire and need, Ingrid squirms and whimpers when she feels him nudge at her entrance. “You sure you want this?” Felix manages to groan, giving her one last chance to back out. 

Ingrid blinks the stars from her vision and brings a hand to smooth over the mess of hair at the back of his head. Her thoughts are too jumbled and she doesn’t trust herself to speak a coherent answer, so she nods against him where his shoulder is tucked beneath her chin and holds her breath. Her muscles draw tense, legs quivering, and the nerves are back, bubbling in her throat. 

When Felix pushes in, he does so in one fluid motion, and Ingrid shuts her eyes tight, only knowing the racing of her heart and the upward push giving way to an intrusive overfull feeling. She rolls her hips ever so slightly, trying to find a way to ease the pain that pulses through her with the remaining oversensitivity. At the movement, Felix makes a wanting noise high in the back of his throat. His hands tremble against her side as he tries to keep his control and let her adjust to his size. 

It doesn’t take long for the pain to fade away beneath the sparks of pleasure coursing through her. So she whimpers, threads fingers through his hair, and hooks a leg over his waist. “Okay?” he questions roughly, moving to mouth at the shell of her ear. His breath is hot and has electricity pulsing up her spine. 

“Yes,” she murmurs, breathless. Then, “please.” As soon as the words leave her lips, Felix lets out a breath and starts to move, sweeping fire in his wake as he draws back. When he pushes in again, all force and raw desire, Ingrid can’t choke back the moan on her lips. 

Everything builds hot and fast. The sensations, brilliant, searing, blinding, all blur together. All Ingrid can pick out is her own ragged panting, Felix’s breath at the line of her jaw, his muscle pressing against her softer skin, and heartrending pleasure that dots her vision with stars. She feels too full yet gutted and drained all at the same time, and she whines, wanting and desperate, and clenches her hands in his hair over and over again. She pants, Felix pants, and her ribs hurt but it’s with a drunken, breathless sort of ache that she can’t bring herself to do anything but love. 

He winds her tighter, moving faster and more recklessly. Occasionally, when it gets to be too much for him, he restlessly kisses and nips at her jaw, and it overwhelms her. It’s her turn to redden his skin when he thrusts in deep; her nails rake down his scalp, down the back of his neck. The sound he makes in return is guttural and unrestrained. Ingrid’s vision blurs a little, blood pounding in her ears. Just like when his head was buried between her legs, she can feel the start of something mounting, like flames licking higher and higher. 

He can feel it too, she thinks, with the way his movements are growing sloppier, more fueled by raw desire. It’s him that sends her over the edge, when their hips meet and he reaches so deep her back arches off the bed. Her name tumbles from his lips in a flurry of rushed breaths and desperate, chasing moans. That blinding heat and pleasure creeps up on her again, then hits her all at once. Aside from Felix, inside her, all around her, everything else fades to static and a frantic sort of pleasure courses through her. Desperately, she clings to the hard muscle of his shoulders in a dizzied attempt to ground herself, anchor herself from the all consuming high. 

Somewhere, beneath the haze, she hears him swear and groan, halting in his thrusts. Warmth spills inside her, sending her heart racing faster and the breath rushing from her lungs. Wanting still burns through her, and she pulls at Felix’s shoulders until his shaky limbs give under the pressure and he collapses on top of her, heavy and grounding and deliciously warm. 

It’s a long time before either of them moves, a mess of heaving chests, sweat dampened hair, and tangled limbs, struggling to come down from their respective highs. Eventually, Felix finds it in himself to ease out of her, off of her, and shift to the side so only his head remains on Ingrid’s shoulder, with one leg still caught between hers. She whimpers quietly at the loss of warmth and catches his arm, tugging it back over her waist. He snorts a little at that, close to a laugh, but it jolts her back to reality where everything isn’t warm and hazy in an afterglow. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, letting go of his wrist so he’s free to pull his arm back. He doesn’t. “I shouldn’t be so selfish,” she adds, quieter. Felix never seemed like the type to be close and intimate after these sorts of things, and she understands if he wants his space. 

“Don’t be stupid. It feels good,” he mutters, tightening the arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. 

He seems to be past the point of embarrassment, too pleasantly tired to protest or blush. Ingrid is grateful for it and doesn’t complain, only stretches a little and nestles in closer. Though, moving makes her all too aware of every strained muscle and deep bruise on her body. Breath catching in her throat, she winces, a whimper dying in the back of her throat. There is just a little lingering pleasure in the burn, but what felt perfectly intense in the heat of passion and desire hurts now, a deep set soreness already starting to settle in. 

Felix must catch her discomfort, because his eyes flutter open, quirking a brow every so slightly. Already, he seems a little clearer headed than he had moments ago, the waves of lingering bliss slowly receding. “You doing alright?” he asks, somewhere between concerned and curious. 

“A little sore, but I can manage,” she says in return, trying not to move much more than she has to. The words are ineloquent, but she’s worn out and can’t bring herself to care too much. Still, she gathers her resolve, knowing she can’t stay and sleep the rest of the day away like she might want to. The thought of leaving and facing the rest of the world again is daunting and not something she looks forward to.

Though, a moment later, Felix props himself up on his elbow and his gaze trails down her body; he winces a little, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I may have overdid it a little,” he admits, eyes lingering on the bruises and bite marks that are littered across her skin.

Gingerly, Ingrid reaches up to the crook of her neck, finding the skin hot under her fingers and tender to the touch. There are other particularly sore spots too, namely on her stomach where he had bitten, and the curve of one of her hips. Even besides those, she’s sure that if she were to look in a mirror, she would find any number of bites, bruises, and scratches everywhere from the underside of her jaw down to her thighs. With the adrenaline finally wound down, they’re really starting to sting and ache, and Ingrid wonders if it’s worth approaching Mercedes to get them healed. Just the thought has her blushing and uncomfortably warm, though, so she decides against it, thinking she’ll just have to do her best to hide anything visible with the makeup Annette gave her. 

Felix stirs, drawing her attention, and stands from the bed, pulling on his clothes, though he doesn’t bother to button up his shirt. While he rummages through a drawer in his dresser, she musters the energy to sit up, retrieves her own clothes from the floor and slips on her undergarments before Felix comes back and catches her wrist to stop her from going any farther with it. With a rosy tint to his cheeks, he sits down beside her and drops a roll of bandages and a tin with some sort of salve in it between them. She has seen that before, she remembers, and thinks back to a time Felix lent her the tin after he beat her rather brutally in a sparring match. It took the edge off the pain and healed her bruises in just a few days without needing to bother a healer. 

“That’s really sweet of you, Felix, but you don’t have-“ Ingrid starts, only to be cut off by a hard edged glare. 

“Shut up, or I’ll kick you out,” he huffs in reply, but with the way his face burns red, it’s all too easy to tell he’s just embarrassed. Besides, there’s no real bite in his words, and he slides a little closer to her, picking up the tin. 

He starts on her jaw, rubbing the salve into her skin with warm, calloused fingers. Her heart flutters traitorously at the feeling, and she thinks Sylvain, but it’s like a reminder now, not an all consuming need. She has to remind herself that this is Felix and she doesn’t love him and he doesn’t love her. But the sweetness in the gesture feels nice, like the salve he works into her skin finds it’s way to the cracks in her heart, and the rhythmic pressure of his hands coaxes out the sting and replaces it with a soothing warmth. The scent is pleasant too, an earthy combination of herbs she can’t quite identify, with just the slightest hint of something sweet and syrupy. 

He methodically works down her neck, dipping into the salve whenever his fingers run dry. His free hand keeps a hold on her shoulder, keeping her still whenever he hits a spot that really hurts and she hisses and instinctively flinches away. Though, each time he merely lightens up the pressure and continues, working the pain out of the deep marks and draining the tension from her body. By the time he reaches her stomach, making her draw in a fluttering breath at his light touches, it takes all her energy just to stay rooted in her spot, sitting up straight. She was already feeling worn out from their earlier... activities, and the soothing warmth of the balm, coupled with Felix’s surprisingly gentle ministration make her want to melt into the sheets and nap, basking in his touch. 

She restrains herself, though, a subtle tremble threading through her tired, sore muscles with the effort. If Felix notices, he doesn’t say anything and instead shifts to the ugly, violet marring that he left on her hip. For the first time, a quiet apology falls from his lips, and he works more tenderly there. Ingrid winces, becoming aware of just how much time he had really spent lingering over that bone, sucking a deep ache into it and scraping the skin raw. Still, any of the pain is quickly made worth it to feel the warm relief that follows, and to see the rare tenderness on Felix’s face, the concern and concentration furrowing slightly at his brow. 

He doesn’t linger too long on the bites at the insides of her thighs, and Ingrid is thoroughly grateful for that, because the way he rubs the pads of his fingers into the sensitive skin there has the beginnings of a needy heat starting to wash over her again. It makes her a little lightheaded and she has to clench her hands in the shirt she left balled up beside her to steady herself. It fades with him, though, when he pulls his hands away.

Seemingly satisfied, Felix swaps the tin for the roll of bandages instead, leaning in a little closer to inspect the divots and marks he left with his teeth. In the few spots where he had broken skin, he wraps the bandages over them, covering any tiny pricks of blood that welled up. Also, he takes care to wrap up any bruises that would be too obvious in her usual outfit, aside for the few that would be too hard to wrap, like the ones at the crook of her neck. While she appreciates the gesture, Ingrid thinks it will hardly be easier to explain why she needs the bandages than why she is bruised if anyone asks. 

Still, she doesn’t question it, knows Felix is trying his best, and offers him a small smile. “Thank you,” she says when he finishes, genuine emotion collecting in her voice. 

All she gets is a noncommittal hum in reply, but it’s enough. And, unfortunately, she can’t find a reason to idle on his bed any longer, so she collects the remaining pieces of her clothes and slips them on. They cover the worst of the marks, at least, but she still plans to head straight to her room before anywhere else. 

Before she can leave, though, Felix shifts in his spot on the bed, speaks up. “You’re welcome back any time that skirt chasing idiot makes you feel like you aren’t enough.”

The words linger in the air and hit Ingrid harder than she thought they would. It’s blunt and honest and Felix. Her fingers still on the doorknob, and it feels like he cut a slice right through her defenses to expose her heart. It beats, unbidden and too raw, leaves her feeling open and vulnerable. She had never mentioned Sylvain, but got the feeling Felix knew anyway; it still never occurred to her that he might understand her conflicted emotions so thoroughly. 

“Or any other time, for that matter,” he adds, the ghost of a wolfish grin playing on his features. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ingrid replies, glad for the levity, something warm and light in her tone. 

It’s horrible, she thinks, but she wants so badly to collapse back in bed with him. It’s horrible, she thinks, what she just did when she loves someone else. A girl, a knight, shouldn’t indulge like this. But, maybe war brings out the worst in people. Or maybe it pushes them together in ways she could never understand. Either way, she leaves the comfort of Felix’s room wishing she could turn back and stay.


End file.
